Parched
by BadMomma
Summary: Genfic. A stranger finds compassion where he least expects it and what he learns carries a strong message. But is that message for him or for the one who has shared it?


Parched

By Badmomma

Warnings: None. No pairings, no heap-big drama, mild language. Just a little sadness. And a few unanswered questions. OC POV, spoilers barely alluded to, takes place After-Series, Genfic (unless you squint, and turn your head sideways, and crouch on one leg with your left hand on the wall to support you).

Notes: Starting paragraph supplied by the mods at SDHE long, long ago; to do with as we would.

He had been walking under the blinding desert sun for two hours,  
following the straight, solid line of the railroad tracks, when he  
saw, first, the highway, and then the single building standing near it.

Having been put off the freight at a siding somewhere in the lower  
Arizona desert when he had been found hiding in a hot and dirty  
cattle car, he had wanted to rest in the shade of one of the  
buildings, but the man at the siding told him that the sheriff would  
be called if he stayed around there, and that he had better move on  
if he didn't want to spend time in the county jail. He had asked  
for some water, because his mouth and throat were scorched from  
thirst, and he had been given a single cupful, nothing more. Then  
he had begun to walk.  
(excerpt from The Running Man, Bill Pronzini, 1967)

**Parched**

I had been walking under the blinding desert sun for two hours, following the straight, solid line of the railroad tracks, when I saw, first, the highway, and then the single building standing near it.

Having been put off the freight at a siding somewhere in the lower Arizona desert when I had been found hiding in a hot and dirty cattle car, I had wanted to rest in the shade of one of the buildings, but the man at the siding told me that the sheriff would be called if I stayed around there, and that I had better move on if I didn't want to spend time in the county jail. I had asked for some water, because my mouth and throat were scorched from thirst, and I had been given a single cupful, nothing more. Then I had begun to walk.

The short rest I'd gotten behind the cover of an abandoned vehicle earlier seemed a lifetime away. As did that solitary building. But there was no other cover in sight, nowhere else to go. I needed to rest. I needed a drink. I needed some shade. And maybe some food. Hopefully I'd find a little more compassion than I had in my last encounter.

I briefly considered quickening my pace but my body rebelled at the mere suggestion of that kind of exertion. Crossing the pavement of the highway, I walked along its edge. Better to struggle in the sand a bit than to melt my shoes on the asphalt.

At the pace I was going, it'd be a while yet before I reached the shelter of the building, but that would afford me the time I needed to try to make myself a little more presentable. I wiped my face, hands and arms with the undershirt I'd been using to keep the sweat from eyes and shield my head. I straightened my shirt as best I could and patted loose some of the dust covering my clothing. There was nothing to do about the mess my shoes were in or the condition of my hair. I only hoped I wouldn't be run off before I'd had a chance to catch my breath.

As I approached my oasis, I got a better view of what the building was. A diner, small, one story, not entirely square; there appeared to be some smaller structures built out behind it. There were two vehicles parked out front and one on the near side. Two pick up trucks and a tow, well worn and dusty. Despite my weariness I quickened my pace; vehicles meant people passing through. There was hope for me yet. I slowed my steps again as I neared the door, catching my reflection in the tinted glass front, I didn't look as bad as I thought. Opening the door was like stepping into heaven; the cool air chilling the sweat on my flesh, the sweet smells of food instantly setting my stomach to rumble.

There were two men seated at the counter, one with a logo-shirt that matched the tow truck out front and the other in a nondescript work shirt. They both turned at the chime of the bell and the sounds from my belly; nodding their greetings without words. Behind the counter, from the kitchen, came a male voice, level and low.

"Serve yourself some water", he barely motioned with his hat-covered head to a pitcher and glasses without looking up, "I'll be with you in a minute."

While the words were friendly enough, the eyes that soon met mine were not quite. They seemed tense, hard and calculating, as if sizing me up, too old for the face they looked out from.

I downed two glasses of water while still standing, I served a third and took a seat. It occurred to me that I should check to see how much money I had left. I was pretty sure the cook wouldn't let me stay here unless I ordered something. Rummaging through my pockets I managed to scrounge up just under eight credits. The water was likely free or it wouldn't have been left on the counter for anyone to serve themselves, that meant I could probably afford to buy a sandwich; eat half now and keep the other half for later. The quiet was broken as I organized my cash on the counter.

"So go on, Kid, tell us what happened. Sue Anne says you used some fancy Kung Fu shit to beat the guy to a pulp!"

The kid snorted in reply, shaking his head. "Sue Anne exaggerates. There was no Kung Fu involved. He was either drunk or high. When I told him to leave he took a swing at me and I deflected it. He was already off balance, so I followed through with a push to the back and kicked his feet out from under him."

"That ain't all of it!" The guy with the work shirt bellowed. "Not ta' hear Sue Anne tell it."

The kid shrugged. "He got up and came at us while I was helping her to a seat. I kicked him in the solar plexus and he went down. That time for good."

"I hope you called the Sheriff on 'im!" Tow Truck demanded.

He nodded. "They sent a couple of deputies and took him and his car to County. Hasn't been back since."

"That's good Kid, that's good." Both customers nodded, mumbling at each other in agreement, before Work Shirt elaborated. "That one time I saw him here, I knew he was no good. You should'a never allowed 'im in here."

The kid looked up and for a moment I thought I saw surprise. "He was a customer." He shrugged and moved toward the door that led between kitchen and dining room. "I have a business to run, Fred."

The kid, and owner it appeared, handed me a menu as he passed, "Just a minute." He walked past me with two plates laden with some sort of meat in a gravy and mashed potatoes. My mouth watered and I turned my attention to figuring out what I could afford to eat. Fred was telling him he was too nice for his own good.

He set the plates down, refilled their drinks and returned to stand before me. "You need a few more minutes? I can just get your drink."

My eyes darted up to him, to the small pile of bills and change next to my glass and then back to the menu. "Um, water's fine for now. Thanks."

He seemed to understand my dilemma. Reaching for another pitcher behind the counter, he topped it off and left it by me. "Have as much as you like. Let me know when you're ready."

He returned to the kitchen and began cleaning the grill. Once there, Fred and Tow Truck, whose name turned out to be Sam, engaged him in conversation again. His responses were short, but not rude, and never very elaborate. On several instances he let the conversation continue without him by failing to comment, only to be pulled back in when a question was directed at him.

After a few minutes he caught my eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. I'd pretty much figured out what I could get so I nodded. He came around to the counter again and pulled out a small booklet.

"Will you need a receipt?"

I shook my head and examined the menu one last time. "I'll have the turkey sandwich."

"With Swiss cheese?"

"Is that extra?" He indicated it wasn't. "OK, yeah then."

"What side do you want?" He pointed at the list of them. "They're included, too."

I glanced over at the Fred and Sam who weren't paying us any attention. Leaning over the counter a bit, I lowered my voice for this next part, it was embarrassing enough having to ask some kid who had to be at least ten years my junior, I didn't want the older guys to overhear.

"Any chance I can get a substitution or something?" I hesitated as a bit of that hardness returned to the kid's eyes. "I'm kind of tight for cash right now," I shot a quick look at my finances before looking back at him, "I'd like to, maybe, have something for when I go."

He nodded and made a hmph sound, "Right, just the sandwich then, no sides." As he reached the door to the kitchen he looked back at me, face still serious, and quietly said, "That cuts the price considerably."

The sandwich plate was listed at four-fifty, individually the side dishes ranged from one to two credits. I wondered how considerable 'considerably' would be. Best case he'd knock two cred off, worst case only one. I scooped all my credits back into my pocket doing the math quickly, it'd be tight but I figured the least I could do was leave the kid a tip. If I was really lucky, he was going to let me buy another sandwich for that cheap.

Looking around I saw a sign for the restrooms and figured it wouldn't hurt to clean up a bit, heaven knew when I'd get the chance again. I hoped they had paper and not those heat-dryer things, that would make things much easier for me. He must have been watching me because he called after me that I should check under the sink if I needed anything.

What I found there damn near made my day.

I did my business and went about washing away as much dirt and grime as I could. I stripped down to my skivvies and soaped up a handful of paper towels, even went as far as to stick my head in the sink to try to rinse out my hair some. I about near had a heart attack when the bathroom door opened and the kid stepped in.

"Thought that's what you were doing." He took another step in and I almost pissed my pants. That hard look was back in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Kid, I just, I've had a rough few weeks. I'm trying to make my way back to my brother's but I run into some bad luck. I just wanted to clean up a bit. You're not gonna call the cops are you? You said I could use what was under the sink! I'll eat my food, pay you whatever you think is fair and be on my way, I swear. I don't want any trouble, really."

Surprisingly, a look of hurt flashed across his features as he turned away. "I just came to tell you your lunch was ready. Take your time." Then he shut the door behind him.

By the time I got back to the counter, feeling more human than I had in a week, Fred was saying his good-byes. The kid, who was back out front working the register, shot me a significant look.

"Which way are you headed Fred?"

"Down and around, Kid. Got some deliveries to make by Nogales, over to Sierra Vista, then looping back 'round into Tucson."

While Fred and Sam were shaking hands the kid looked askance at me. I shook my head 'no'. I was heading the other way. Fred turned back to wave goodbye at the kid, who did this weird thing with his head an shoulders. Looked like he was trying to nod with a stiff neck, it pulled his upper body forward just the slightest bit.

When it came time for Sam to leave, the kid again made inquiries. Seemed Sam was headed for Mexico to meet up with some friends.

It was looking like I might have to walk again.

I ate my sandwich slowly, just because he'd tried to get me a ride with his other customers didn't mean the kid would want me hanging around all day. I was still trying to come up with an angle for how to convince him to let me stay when he broke the silence.

"You walked here."

It hadn't been a question so I didn't bother denying it. I nodded.

"Where from?"

"Followed the tracks from the last siding."

"That's pretty far."

"Walked most the night. Good part of the morning too."

The kid came through the door, pulling the hat off and putting a plate in front of me with chips and a fruit salad. He pulled a stool from under the counter.

I quirked a half smile at him. "Thanks, but I really can't afford that." I'd already seen the receipt he'd left next to my plate. He was only going to charge me two credits for the sandwich.

"On the house." He waved the objection away. "Where is this brother of yours?"

"Littlerock"

"Arkansas? That's well east of here, you could have…"

I shook my head. "California"

He frowned.

"A little north of Los Angeles."

"Near New Edwards, the base?"

"Between them." I explained, realizing suddenly where that hard look in his eyes was likely to have been learned. Military brat or maybe military himself. I'd heard that the Alliance and Oz had recruited them young, but this kid, he practically would'a been in diapers still. Nah, probably a brat. Most likely lost his family in the war and ended up here in nowhere land.

"What happened?"

The question caught me off guard. I thought for a moment of just brushing him off, telling him he really didn't want to hear my story. He'd probably scoff at the misadventures of a thirty-year-old dork who'd misplaced his trust and thrown away his future. But his expression, while still a bit hard, looked open and a touch curious. I told him, in as short a fashion as I could, and with as little melodrama as possible. It still sounded like a damned soap opera.

When I looked at him again he was frowning slightly. His eyes had gone unfocused, staring straight out the front window. He was thinking. Hard.

"Don't worry about it, I'll manage."

He barked out a laugh that managed to sound amused, smug and condescending all at the same time. "How!"

"Don't know Kid, I'll get there somehow. If you don't mind me squatting on your stoop, I might just pick up a ride north. Maybe try my hand at rail-hopping again 'til I get to California. From there it should be pretty easy. A little hoofing and a little thumbing, maybe work my way up the coast." I stuck out my hand and demonstrated the technique.

He made that strange hmphing sound again and I was starting to think indicated something like disbelief. "Right, on spit and eight credits." I completely missed the fact that he'd nailed my financial situation right on the head.

"Six credits", I corrected, "I owe you for lunch."

He smirked, then stood and made for the kitchen door again. "You won't get far on that. You need a real plan."

My pride got the better of me and I all but squawked. "Hey, I've got a plan! It's just not very well defined yet."

He jerked back around at that, wide-eyed, and froze. After a minute, he frowned again, made that hmphing sound and shook it off. "Stay there, I need to check something."

I leaned over the counter and watched him head for the back door. When he began to open it and daylight seeped in, I called out to him.

"Hey Kid! You're just going to leave me here while you go outside."

He looked at me over his shoulder, nodding just once, his features had gone hard again.

"How can you trust me, you don't even know me. I could'a been lying through my teeth. Hell, for all you know I could be a thief! I could rob you blind and you wouldn't even know it."

At that he quirked a sad smile. "Yeah," he said softly, "you could be. But you don't strike me as a liar, and I've known… some pretty honest thieves."

And with that he walked out the back door. He'd acknowledged I could be a liar and a thief and he'd left anyway. Maybe Fred and Sam were right. Maybe this kid was too kind for his own good.

Ten minutes of haggling and it was a done deal. I had a roof over my head, 3 square meals and 25 credits a day, half the tips when I worked and I covered the diner every other night. The kid said I could stay as long as I liked or needed and I agreed to stay on at least until he drove into town again, which would be in two weeks. After that, we'd see.

Since there were no customers at the time he took me out back; showed me the open-air shower stall behind the building that ran hot and cold water and explained that I'd be sleeping in what used to be the manager's office.

The lock on my temporary bedroom had one of those key-pad things and he made me set the code, saying everyone was entitled to their privacy and that he would just reprogram it after I left. The office turned out to have an old sofa I could sleep on, a radio, air conditioner and a toilet and sink. He pointed out a cabinet in the corner, saying it might have some spare clothes I could use. His old man's I assumed. He didn't say and I didn't ask.

"That's it", he said and turned to leave. "You can start tomorrow. Rest now and come in to get some food later. I'll show you what needs doing then." He did the weird head and shoulders thing and left.

I availed myself of the shower, clothes from the dresser and some long overdue rest. It was only as I was on the edge of sleep that I realized…

We hadn't even exchanged names.

Chuck wiped his mouth, making a satisfied 'aah' loud enough for the world to hear. He dropped a 10 on the counter and made his way to the door. "Or-ree-got-tow yu-wee-sawn. Best damned omelet this side of the border. See ya' on the ride back!"

The kid did that weird head and shoulders thing again and the hmph-ing sound I was starting to believe meant anything from 'yes' to 'in your wildest dreams', muttering 'later' just loud enough to carry to the retreating figure. He motioned to me with his knife that I should go clean up and tally the bill. Six-seventy-five for a Mexican omelet, potatoes, toast, juice and coffee. The balance went in the tip jar under the counter.

In the few days I'd been here Chuck had stopped in four times. He was essentially our morning rush. Oh there had been other stragglers for breakfast here and there, still one customer there now, but we were too far from anywhere habitable to expect much of an early morning crowd. And no one aside from Chuck appeared to be on the same conversational plane with the kid. Not since Fred and Sam.

The kid was a lot quieter than I'd expected him to be. Compared to the last few days, he'd been downright chatty that first day. It wasn't as if he was rude or sulky with me or the customers, he just didn't say much when it wasn't asked of him.

Not that he didn't know what to say or kept quiet because he was dumb. Quite the opposite really, it appeared he was incredibly knowledge on a wide range of subjects. I'd overheard him talking to the customers about engine performance factors, building structural tolerances, astronomy, religion, history, science. They were all short conversations and always initiated by the customers, but I'd heard him talk about things whose subject matter I couldn't even guess at.

I'd also noticed that the hard look his face sometimes took on was not some disgruntled reaction to anything in particular, it was just the way he looked when he wasn't exerting the effort not to. On the few occasions that we'd actually talked about anything at length he'd had a patient, almost gentle, look to him, the gruff exterior melting away completely. Quiet and serious just seemed to be his default mode. Must have been through a lot in his life to make him that way.

It was my night off and I had just dispatched what would likely be the last customer for hours. A week and a half here and I knew exactly where he'd be and what he'd be doing based solely on the time. The kid was nothing if not meticulous and regimented.

Up at 5:30 every morning. Baking underway by 6:00. Stock cooking items placed in their easy access containers by 6:15. Register restocked with the appropriate bills and coinage by 6:25. Grills and griddles hot enough to cook by 6:45. Coffee brewed and sealed away in airtight dispensers by 6:50. Hat and apron in place by 7:00. It didn't matter that we'd not likely get anyone in the diner before 8am. Come hell or high water, the kitchen was fully functional by seven every morning.

But it went beyond his almost obsessive method of running the kitchen. Even on the nights I watched the diner he had a set routine. Clean and restock the bathrooms. Run two loads of laundry, one light and one dark. Manually check all security devices. Check on Rick in kitchen. Shower. Work on accounts and true up inventory. Print and place tomorrow's menu. Notify Rick he's going to bed, pay wages for the day worked and reiterate he should be called if a problem arose. Go to sleep.

It made me wonder again about his life. My mind supplied a few possibilities; I imagined a long stint in prison, or maybe a juvenile detention center, or maybe… and it kept coming back to this, he'd been military. There was this disciplined air about him. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself. Something about him just screamed soldier.

As expected, I found the kid sitting at the low bench on the far side of the shower stall, gazing at the stars and smoking his daily cigarette.

"All done in there. Last customer's gone."

He nodded, acknowledging both my presence and my statement.

I leaned against the wall by the bench, to his right. "I finished the inventory; left the list by the door for you. And I transferred some bacon from the freezer, we were running low. Did you want me to do anything else?"

"No that's fine, thanks." He offered the small wooden box that held his special tobacco and rolling papers, but I declined. I knew, from the last time he'd offered, that he was running low. I wasn't sure when he was expecting another shipment, whether he'd be ordering it tonight along with the rest of the things we needed or if that came separately. This was part of his ritual, every night, just after sunset.

"Sure?"

I nodded, looking up at the sky. There was enough ambient light from the front of the building that you could see where you were walking, but not enough that it interfered with the view far overhead. The smoke and the smell of his cigarette curled in the air around us, mixing with the smells of the desert. The night sky was clear, the moon nearly full, the air crisp and cooling; tranquility in it's truest form. It could make you forget – even if just for a little while - that there was anything wrong in the world.

"Ever wonder what it'd be like to live out there? Among the stars? No sounds, no smells, no wind, no day or night, just the blackness of space. That's what people say, right? 'The blackness of space'. I imagine there's a million more stars twinkling away out there, 24 hours a day."

He hmphed at me and, without looking, I knew I'd said something to amuse him.

"What?" I demanded.

"They don't twinkle in space. Light travels at a constant rate, without the earth's atmosphere to interfere with your perception of it, what you see is a solid pinpoint of light."

I huffed out a breath and flopped down on the bench beside him. "Gee thanks, Einstein, crush a man's fantasies, why don't you. Have any words of wisdom to impart about the moon. How it's just a big ugly dust ball or something."

His eyes tracked to the moon and he snorted softly, an almost wistful expression settling on his face. "Someone once described it as looking like a graveyard."

"A graveyard, huh? Doesn't much inspire me to visit."

"I think…" He looked at me then, shrugging. "It reminds me of a carnival."

I looked back up at the moon, seeing only a silvery disc with darker grey shadows. "Cause of the hotels and stuff up there?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him nod.

"You have bionic eyes or something? I can't see a damned thing from here."

He laughed softly, shaking his head, but never looking away from it. "No. It's just the way it looked from…" he hesitated, "on the vid screens."

I chuckled at that, I too had seen reports on the vids about the vacation hot spots on the moon's surface. A carnival was not quite the image it conjured for me but to each their own, right? "You have an interesting way of looking at things, Yuy."

My comment caused another one of those weird reactions he'd been having since we first met. I hadn't figured out exactly what triggered them, but either something I said or did kept making him stiffen or freeze for a moment and then he'd get this odd look on his face. The features would soften and one corner of his mouth would lift almost imperceptibly. When I looked back at him now his posture had relaxed again, no sign of the previous tension. His head was tilted back against the wall behind him and his eyes were closed, taking a long draw off the cigarette. It made me remember what he'd said when I asked him why he smoked just the one a day, 'For the memories'. It was, like the man himself, cryptic at best.

I watched him for a while, this enigma of a young man. Serious, calm and controlled, yet just beneath the surface there seemed to be something else. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. Some kind of turmoil.

"Hey boss-man, can I ask you something?"

I caught the small shift in facial features that my continued use of the nick-name caused. I had no doubt that the far corner of his mouth had pulled up in that half smile he got when something amused him. I'd spent the better part of two days calling him boss-man before he'd stopped what he was doing to tell me his name.

Leaning forward, he dropped the last bit of cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with his boot. He clasped his hands in the air between his knees and stared at them. "You can ask."

But you won't necessarily answer, I finished for him in my mind. Well, if his simply not answering was the worst that could happen then I would ask; but I suddenly wasn't sure how to ask. Or even what to ask.

"You, uh," Well damn, this was awkward.

He turned his head a bit to look at me, curiosity just barely visible on his face.

"What happened to _you_?"

His eyes widened for an instant and he turned away almost immediately, his gaze out over the desert. He didn't speak at all and I figured that was my answer. No answer. I'd asked for more than he was willing to tell. It didn't matter, I guess, I'd be leaving in a few days anyway and this would soon all be a memory. Another chapter in Heinrich Geller's book of life, "The Quiet Kid in the Desert". That was the cheesy title my mind supplied.

I was just about to get up and walk away.

"I'm not sure I know."

His soft statement surprised me. It wasn't what I expected, but then again… "You don't remember?"

"No." His brow furrowed in concentration. "No, I remember it all. I'm just not sure I know what happened."

He paused again, not nearly as long as the first time, but he seemed to need the time to gather his thoughts. The tale that followed warranted the pause. And while I'm sure many, many details were left out – I'd had a brother in the military so the details were something I could guess at well enough – the story wasn't nearly as short or simple as mine had been. It was nearly an hour before he stopped speaking again.

His story was rife with death, struggle, war, blood, battle and loneliness. But there had also been friendship, compassion, triumph and even the specter of love. Unfortunately that had been followed by bouts of anguish, confusion, guilt and, worst of all, fear.

He'd lost them all, he said, and when I asked how they'd died he snorted and stood up, stepping away from the bench.

"Oh they're not dead, but they are gone. I lost them." He shrugged, eyes hard and voice thick with recrimination as he looked over his shoulder at me, "I lost them when I left."

He didn't wait for me to respond, walking purposefully to the door and disappearing inside. He was…

I felt numb, drained. I'd been completely unprepared for that.

He was one of them… A damaged soul.

My brother had been like that the last time I'd seen him. My friend's dad. My ex's cousin.

He was like the desert he lived in.

The End


End file.
